


michaela gets a tattoo and no one is surprised at just how nerdy she really is

by greyhavensking



Series: the misadventures of blackout and her found family trope [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Discussions of Past Trauma, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Literary References & Allusions, Tattoos, The angst is mild in this one, it's what they deserve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22262668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyhavensking/pseuds/greyhavensking
Summary: Michaela wants a tattoo. Matt doesn't see the point.(or, alternatively, the chaotic dumbasses have a sweet moment together and the merits of tattoos are weighed and discussed)
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Original Female Character(s)
Series: the misadventures of blackout and her found family trope [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602505
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	michaela gets a tattoo and no one is surprised at just how nerdy she really is

“Tattoos: yay or nay?”

Matt raises a brow at Michaela without lifting his head or moving his hands away from the braille notes on his and Foggy’s latest case he’s reading over. A smile teases at the corner of his mouth. “Personally, I don’t see the point of them.”

Michaela frowns, curious what he has against them – he’s not the first person she’s known to be anti-tattoo and he won’t be the last, but Matt’s generally not _that_ kind of asshole. And then the synapses start firing a little faster and she jolts upright, slapping the back of her hand against his shoulder, which. Ow, not her best idea, especially since he doesn’t so much as flinch; he’s laughing, actually, his mouth curving into that smug grin she’s seen more and more of since they started _officially_ dating.

“Dick,” she says, though the underlying fondness is unmistakable, and Matt certainly doesn’t adopt any sort of apologetic stance for her benefit. She’d wager his smugness only intensifies at her reaction, because he is _that_ kind of asshole. “I’m being serious.”

“So was I.”

“Matt, I swear to, to _your_ God—”

He laughs, dropping his paperwork on the coffee table before fitting an arm around her waist and tugging her into his side. And she, uh. Doesn’t protest. Like, at all. Matt’s warm and it’s cold and, well, she didn’t exactly realize how touch-starved she was until she was _allowed_ to touch Matt. They’d been friendly before, obviously, fleeting, glancing touches on shoulders or backs, grabbing hands now and again for the hell of it (or, more likely, to drag each other out of harm’s way because they’re in it so damn often). But she’d been… for lack of a better word _craving_ more, and Matt is more than happy to satisfy that now, beyond just holding her during panic attacks so she wouldn’t shake apart.

It’s just nice, okay? And Michaela is fuckin’ tired of denying herself nice things.

“I mean, I can’t see them, and I wouldn’t necessarily be able to feel them, so they’re not for me. But I’m assuming you’re asking about tattoos for yourself,” he says.

“Got it in one,” she says, grinning. Matt really is warm, good lord, she should’ve scooted herself over this way ages ago. What a fool she’d been, situating herself on the far side of the couch like a heathen. “I’ve always wanted one, but needles, man, they fucked with my head when I was younger, and when I got over that it was the whole pain thing. Just, you know, continuous little pricks of pain, for maybe hours? No thanks. Now, though…”

“Ah,” Matt says, his voice softening with understanding, the teasing edge filed away. “Not so scary anymore, huh.”

Understatement. Perhaps the biggest understatement of Michaela’s young, action-movie-esque life. They can be broody, sentimental messes later, though; they’re probably scheduled for a breakdown or two in the near future, judging by how smooth things have been going lately. So Michaela doesn’t bother responding to that, at least not verbally (Matt’ll know her feelings on it regardless, and it’s not like she’s hiding it from him); instead, she darts forward and snags a notepad and pen from the table, minimizing the amount of time she has to separate from Matt’s side.

She’s gotten used to getting the braille version of anything she wants Matt to read but seeing as that’s not really an option at the moment, she has to improvise. Pressing the pen as hard as she can into the paper without outright ripping the thing to shreds, she starts writing.

“So there’s this quote,” she says, scratching out the _B U_ of the first word. “Back in high school, which was, as you well know, the height of my nerddom, I got very, very into _Lord of the Rings_.”

“Books or movies?” Matt asks softly, reaching over with his unoccupied hand to brush a strand of hair from where it’s fallen into her face. She cracks another grin at the gesture; she’d been about to huff it away herself, but trust Matt to anticipate her needs like the gentleman she pegged him to be all those months ago.

“Movies, originally. I’m like a fake nerd, I don’t, uh, _read_ all that much, but when I obsess over a movie that’s a book adaptation I almost always go back and read the book.” She hits _THING_ and grimaces, just a little. Her hand’s starting to ache from the angle she’s holding the pen and the pressure she’s applying, but oh well, she’s halfway there. She could always _tell_ Matt the quote, but that’s so much less fun. You could make the argument that it’s less tedious, too, and yet. Michaela lives to make things harder on herself, truly. “This one line just stuck in my brain. I wasn’t… When I read it the first time, I wasn’t going through a rough patch or anything. Things were alright, from what I remember, as alright as they got with my family, anyway. And then mom died and. Well. Shit hit the fan.”

Matt knows all this – they’d traded tragic backstories fairly early on after the big ol’ reveal on the floor of her old apartment, comparing metaphorical (and physical, god, Matt had scared the piss out of her with those) scars and offering conciliatory pats on the back in true _we’re-both-fucked-up-and-that’s-about-all-there-is-to-it_ fashion. Point is, she doesn’t have to rehash any of the details with him, but it’s pertinent to the background on why she wants this quote as a tattoo, so. At least it doesn’t sting too much the second time around.

Matt makes it infinitely better, whether that’s his intention or not. He’s a warm, solid presence all along her side, his arm a grounding weight on her waist; he’s got his free hand wrapped gently around her wrist, careful not to disturb her writing, his thumb rubbing rhythmically against her pulse point. The tension in her shoulders that crept up at the mention of her mom dissipates just as quickly, Matt’s continued ministrations more than enough to remind her that it’s been a long, long time since that particular hurt carved a gash into her heart. That she’s – not moved on, it was her _mother_ , you don’t move on from that. More that she’s still going, that she’s got her head above water these days.

“Quote started to make a lot more sense to me recently,” she says eventually.

The notepad might need to be trashed after this, unfortunately – she’s probably indented the next twenty pages with this quote. She’d say it’s worth it, though. Braille is raised lettering, yeah, but this should work just as well. Tossing the pen back onto the table (and patiently ignoring the fact that it bounces onto the floor), she flips her hand around and grabs Matt’s, lining up his fingers with the first depressed letters.

 _But in the end it’s only a passing thing, this shadow; even darkness must pass_.

Said by the drastically underrated Samwise Gamgee, and unfortunately quite relevant to her life. The last, oh, seven or eight years have been… not fun, to say the least. She lost her mom, alienated her dad, landed a shit job and a shittier apartment, then got blasted in the face by a then-unknown chemical agent and became a one-way ticket to promotion for any rookie cop looking to make a name for themselves. And don’t even get her started on the _wizard_.

She tilts her head back, leaning it on Matt’s shoulder and looking up into his face. He’s smiling, slowly passing his fingers over the quote, smudging the ink a little and getting it on his skin in the process. She tucks her answering smile into his t-shirt.

“Foggy’s big into _Lord of the Rings_ ,” he says. Not surprising; Foggy’s got nerd tendencies, though his aren’t as, shall we say, _off-putting_ as Michaela’s used to be. That, and he’s got the whole successfully good-guy lawyer thing going for him, and he’s super-duper charming, so. Nerd or not, Foggy Nelson will always be more user-friendly than Michaela. “He likes to say that he’s the Sam to my Frodo, which isn’t necessarily flattering.”

“No,” Michaela agrees, stilted, choking on a laugh, “no, that is not complimentary in the least, oh my god, he really _says that_ to you?”

“He does indeed. And admittedly, it’s not an inaccurate comparison.”

“Well. Uh. Yeah, yeah, you’re right about that, Matty.”

“I still give him hell for it, obviously.”

“Oh, yes, of course. You’d be violating the best friend code otherwise. Can’t have you fucking up your friendship this late in the game, yeah?”

“Foggy might actually consider murdering me, then.”

“It would be justified, but. Yeah. Better not to risk it.” Michaela bites at her lip, glancing up at Matt from under her lashes, assured that the vulnerability of the gesture won’t be completely lost on him. True to form, Matt tugs her closer with his handhold on her waist, nudges his nose into her temple, the warmth of his breath prickling at her skin and offering yet another reminder of his silent support. “So, uh. You get the quote. Probably know why I picked it better than me, even. Any thoughts?”

Bless Matt for his ability to read her like a book with a broken spine, because he knows exactly what she’s getting at with this. “It suits you,” he says, his smile pressed into her hairline, apparently unbothered by the stray curls tickling at his lips. “Very nerdy, a little angsty. But… hopeful. Persistently hopeful. Like I said,” he continues, and she can _feel_ the smugness of his smile but she doesn’t even care, her heart’s beating rabbit-quick in her chest and she’s _blushing_ for fuck’s sake, how is this man so _smooth_ , “it’s… you.”

Michaela tosses the notepad ( _carefully_ ) back onto the table in favor of curling further into Matt’s warm, inviting side, tucking her face into the perfect curve of his shoulder, her arms snaking tight around his waist. She’s not crying, _god_ , she isn’t, but she feels like she’s on the verge of it and she wants to stave them off at any cost because this is not a cry-worthy moment. This is Matt _getting her_ and loving her all the same, and it’s happy, yeah, these would be happy tears for sure, but. Ugh. Matt’s shirt is new, he doesn’t need her dripping all over it, and he wouldn’t _care_ , she knows that, but she cares, goddammit, and it’s a good enough reason for her to hold back the waterworks. For now, anyway. She can’t make any promises about the future.

He holds her close, unperturbed by the sudden clinginess. Michaela revels in the feeling of his chest rising and falling in time with hers, the synchronicity of their bodies near each other. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothes her more than she ever thought it could, and she just. Breathes. Filled to the brim with gratitude, her own heart sated, and her skin no longer starved.

God, she’s a sap. It’s a good thing Matt seems to like that about her.

“So, tattoos: yay or nay?” Matt asks sometime later, his voice low and soft against her ear.

“Yay, definitely. They do raised tattoos, right? That’s a thing.” Michaela debates the merits of making a grab for her phone, but. Nah, not worth the trouble of disentangling herself from Matt. “It’s a thing,” she decides before Matt can respond, nodding mostly to herself. “Thjnk I’d like to be able to feel it, really know it’s there even without being able to see it.”

Matt laughs and presses a kiss to her hair. “Whatever makes you happy, King.”

Michaela subtly jabs an elbow into his hip, ignoring the amused sound he lets out. It _will_ make her happy, Murdock – it’ll give her stupid boyfriend another excuse to have his hands on her in a way she actually enjoys. Not that he needs it, really, but it’s good to have options, back-up plans and the like. She’s picked that up (among other less pleasant life lessons) from her vigilante life, and she thinks it applies to the everyday world well enough. To this situation if nothing else.

She’ll look into where she’s going to get the tattoo later. Or tomorrow. Eventually. Right now she’s way too comfortable and Matt’s even breathing, combined with the general warmth he exudes, is making her drowsy, liable to drop off at any moment.

And it’s nice that she feels safe like this. Protected but never coddled.

Yawning and nuzzling back into the soft material of Matt’s shirt, Michaela thinks she wants another tattoo after this one. Something simple. Something that would be for her. Something with bright red devil horns and the barest suggestion of a smile.

Yeah. Yeah, she can get behind that. Matt doesn’t even need to talk her into this one.

She thinks he’ll break out his dopiest smile when she tells him about it, after the fact.

Yeah, Michaela’ll be looking forward to that.


End file.
